Heavy in Your Arms
by ladycobert
Summary: Phryne insists that Mac recover from her traumatic experience at her own house. (Set before the last couple of scenes of 1 x 10, Death by Miss Adventure.)
1. Are you strong enough to stand

"Phryne." Mac paused when the other woman started to open her own bedroom door. "This really isn't necessary. None of it is."

Taking her friend's hand, Phryne fixed her with a tender visage. "You've been in jail and wrongfully accused of murdering your lover. And I know you miss her. It's a traumatic experience. You're the doctor, so I know you know this. At the very least I can keep you here overnight and make sure you have a hot bath and some liquid fortification."

Mac knew that Phryne couldn't be gainsaid. She sighed and nodded slowly, her own inner fortifications – cracked when she'd been accused of murdering Gascon as well – silently crumbling completely. She followed Phryne into the room, watching as Dot bustled about getting the bath ready, as Phryne herself looked through her closet for an appropriate dressing gown.

As Phryne held up an embroidered silk dressing gown in a deep shade of emerald, smiling and doing that tiny head toss that flipped her glossy black hair neatly about her face, Mac found herself smiling as well. "I know it's not your usual smart suit, but will it do for the time being?"

Clucking, Mac eyed it. "I suppose."

"I could always get something smarter from Mr. Butler."

The look on Phryne's face assured Mac that her friend merely teased. "No, I'll wager Mr. Butler's taste in dressing gowns far exceeds my own." She tilted her head down and glanced up at Phryne with a grin. "This will have to do."

The mirthful expression shared between the two friends was broken by Dot. "Miss, Dr. MacMillan, the bath is ready."

Tossing the dressing gown over a chair, Phryne held out a hand to her companion. "Come along then, Dot. We'll leave Mac to get settled." At the threshold, Phryne paused, Dot already out the door, and turned her head to her friend. "I'll be up in just a bit with some of that liquid fortification." She whipped out and shut the door behind her before Mac could answer.

Left alone in Phryne's bedroom, Mac slowly disrobed, folding each part of her suit, her undergarments, carefully over the arm of a chair, her shoes tucked carefully beneath. She had no doubt that Dot would take great care over the laundering of each item, whether Phryne asked her to or not. Mac smiled wryly as she climbed into the bath, the scent of lavender tickling her nostrils. _Dot's attempt at calming me,_ she thought. And as she stretched her limbs out in the steaming water, closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the bath, for at least a moment or two, she felt calm.

Then she remembered the funeral, the photographs of the crime scene Phryne had shown her, the last time she saw Daisy's face…and she eventually realized that she'd folded herself up, clasping her legs, crossed at the ankles, to her chest and resting her cheek down on her knees. She let out a long, heavy sigh, dredged up from some unfathomable depth within her – from her soul, her heart, her bowels, her brain? She didn't know. Doctors saw so much in dissecting, in surgeries, but the seat of the emotions? Her empiricism might incline Mac to dismiss emotions, since she could not discern their origin that way.

However, as mysterious as their source might be, she couldn't completely brush them aside – hadn't ever really – because she still felt their press upon her insides and the way they could stir her affections.

"Mac?"

Phryne's voice and soft knock at the door interrupted Mac's philosophical musings.

"Come in, Phryne."

Holding the glasses carefully with one hand and one arm, Phryne sidled in and closed the door, walking over to the bath and holding out one of the glasses to Mac.

Unwrapping one of her arms from around her knees, Mac lifted her head and accepted the glass. She drank deeply as Phryne perched upon the chair across which she'd thrown the emerald dressing gown. Lightly gliding her fingers back and forth over the green silk, tracing over the embroidered patterns, the raven-haired woman glanced briefly at her friend. The dark patches under her eyes were pronounced, and Phryne guessed she hadn't sleep well – or perhaps at all – since the beginning of the case. Mac wasn't one to fold herself up and hide, so her posture caused the friend great concern. Not that she hadn't been concerned enough already.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently before sipping her whiskey.

Mac shook her head, gazing down into her glass. It was already nearly empty.

"I knew I should have brought the decanter up too." Standing, Phryne dropped a kiss on Mac's forehead, leaving a distinct red lipstick stain behind.

Grinning the tiniest bit, Mac downed the rest of her drink.

Meanwhile, Phryne had stepped over to the door and opened it. "Mr. Butler!" she called down the stairs. "Dr. Mac needs more medicine – double quick! Bring the decanter!" Continuing to stand in the doorway, her lithe body wedged between the edge of the door and the frame, she threw Mac a smile. Then she turned nearly immediately. "You anticipate me as always, Mr. Butler." Accepting the decanter, she said goodnight to the butler, then came back in the room.

"That man was made to be your butler, Phryne, I'm completely convinced. He's positively unflappable, and has a number of talents that are uniquely fitted to living in this particular house," Mac observed, extending her arm so the other woman could refill her glass. The whiskey certainly had a fortifying, warming effect.

"Yes, well, I have had excellent luck in finding the best helpers." She sank into the chair again, quietly sipping her drink.

Mac sighed. "What about you? Have you decided about Murdoch Foyle?" Training her eyes on Phryne, she, too, nursed her whiskey.

Shrugging, Phryne studied her toes that poked over the edge of the chair. She'd pulled her legs up to her chest as well, mirroring Mac. "I don't know," she intoned in a low voice, shaking her head and meeting her friend's eyes once again. She knew how Mac felt about the situation, remembered how strongly she'd objected to Phryne letting Foyle get the better of her. Mac didn't have to say it again.

They sat in silence for many long moments, drinking and sharing glances at intervals. Finally Phryne unfolded herself and took Mac's empty glass.

"The water has to be cold by now." Setting the glasses on her bureau, she went about getting her own pajamas from a drawer. "You should get out, dry off. I won't have you falling ill."

Chuckling gently, Mac said, "You do know that's an old wives' tale, don't you?"

Phryne gave her a wide-eyed, matter-of-fact look. "All the same."

She disappeared behind the screen to change clothes, and Mac stood, reaching for the soft towel Dot had set out for her. Setting this aside after drying off and pulling out the stopper for the water to drain from the bath, Mac slid the dressing gown picked out for her around her shoulders and knotted it closed, rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror.

"The color suits you perfectly," Phryne commented when she stepped around the screen in her salmon pajama bottoms and top.

"Perhaps I should get something in this color for my wardrobe?"

"Absolutely." Coming forward, Phryne smiled and adjusted the collar of the dressing gown. Then her face grew more serious. "Mac, I want you to stay in here with me tonight. I can tell you're not yourself."

"Phryne, I'm fine, really. Dot already made up the bed in the guest –"

"Mac, I won't be refused. Remember how long you said we'd known each other?"

Nodding, Mac's lips turned up slightly.

"I don't want you to be alone right now." At Mac's acquiescing sigh, Phryne indicated the chair in front of her dressing table. "Sit. You still have a lipstick kiss on your brow."

Doing as she was told, Mac's eyes followed Phryne about the room while she unpinned her hair and shook it loose. Phryne dampened a cloth with warm water and washed her own face before rinsing it and crossing the room to her dressing table. Bending slightly, she took a tender hold on Mac's chin and ran the cloth over her face gently. Mac closed her eyes and exhaled noiselessly, her heart growing full with gratitude that her friend somehow knew she needed to be taken care of. Somehow knew that, if left to herself, she'd be stretched out on her back in her bed, the room cold and dark, an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in her hand. That Phryne knew this, despite the fact that this was exceptionally rare behavior on Mac's part – being given more to sarcasm and anger as a defense and action as a method of righting wrongs and fighting injustices, rather than succumbing to melancholy…. It was a strong testament to their friendship and how well they knew one another.

After Phryne wiped Mac's forehead free of the red stain, she replaced the lipstick kiss with another – this time with bare lips – and grinned at her. "Now, I think one more nightcap before attempting to sleep."

Mac slid herself around in the chair to observe her friend, who poured them each a healthy serving of whiskey and brought one to the doctor before sitting down in a facing chair. Phryne pulled her lower limbs up onto the cushion and wrapped one around the other, her elbow upon the arm of the chair to prop up her drink.

"Do you think the hospital board will reconsider my employment?" The auburn-haired woman stared at the amber liquid.

Chortling, Phryne waved her other hand in the air. "If I can persuade Aunt Prudence, I'm sure she'll think of a way to persuade the lot of them."

Raising her eyes, Mac drank and then asked, "Do you think you can persuade her?"

Phryne merely fixed Mac with that look she had, her head tilting briefly from side to side, her lips pursed and her brows lifted.

Mac laughed. "Alright, you're right."

"Aunt P isn't an awful person. She knows they made a dreadful mistake in suspending you. The least she can do is set it right. And I'm convinced she will." Phryne took a drink, her lips curling upward. "At least, after I make her see sense."

Nodding, Mac's gaze lowered again. She finished her whiskey and studied the glass, deep in thought.

Phryne, seeing this, tossed the rest of her own drink back and set the glass down on the floor beside the chair. "Mac, do you want something else to sleep in?"

She looked up at Phryne blankly, then shook her head as if to clear it. Peering down at the dressing gown, she shook her head again. "No, this is fine." Depositing the glass upon the dressing table, she ran her fingers over the silk covering her other arm. "It feels quite nice, actually. Although I look ridiculous."

"No, Mac," Phryne said in all seriousness. "You don't. You know I appreciate a well cut pair of trousers and a fine suit as much as anyone, but you could wear anything you like and look exquisite."

Giving her a small smile, Mac tilted her head at her. "Now you're just flattering me to make me feel better."

"Believe that if you like, but I assure you I am not." Phryne got up and began turning out lamps around the room. "Tuck yourself in, Mac."

Mac slipped beneath the covers and waited on her side for Phryne to get into bed, facing her, having left on one dim lamp.

"In case you need to get up in the night. So you can find your way." Phryne smiled.

"Phryne, thank y—"

A finger to her lips muted her words of gratitude. "I already know that, Mac. Now try to sleep. It's been a long few days." Phryne moved her hand to her friend's cheek, giving it one brief stroke before turning to settle on her stomach and closing her eyes with a murmured, "Goodnight, Mac."

Rolling over onto her back, Mac drew the covers up under her chin and sighed, staring at the ceiling. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to sleep that night either. But she felt more comfortable than she had in days.


	2. Protecting both your heart and mine

The enormity of the emotional weight pressed fullest in the small hours of the morning, after Mac had had a few hours of fitful slumber. She turned on her side, away from Phryne, and covered her face with her hand, endeavoring to weep in silence.

But to no avail, as the grief shook her body and the sobs caught in her throat, dragging out choking noises and heaving sighs over which she had no control.

Before long Mac felt arms wrapping around her waist, the warm press of Phryne's front against her back. Mac rested her arm across Phryne's with a long sigh. "I'm bloody sorry," she strangled out.

"Shhhh." Phryne's exhalation fanned warm breath on the delicate skin just behind Mac's ear. If Phryne had it right, Mac hadn't wept since they'd embraced in the City South Station cell. It was something she needed.

"Oh, Phryne," she whispered, letting herself go completely.

The two lay there, spooned together, until Mac's tears finally ran out. She felt limp and heavy, but Phryne's arms around her spread a kind of warmth and comfort throughout her body.

Hugging Mac tighter, Phryne pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and rested her forehead on her hair.

Then Mac realized that Phryne hummed a tune. Not a lullaby – Phryne probably didn't know any, or maybe it hurt too much to remember them – but Mac thought she recognized the melody to "Creole Love Call," and the corners of her mouth twitched into a grin.

Gratefulness swelling up in her chest, Mac turned suddenly and burrowed her face against Phryne's collar bone, slipping an arm around to her back to pull her close. Phryne's fingers danced slowly up and down Mac's spine, lingering over the green silk, traveling lower with each pass of her hand. Mac closed her eyes, breathing deeply and allowing Phryne to draw away the heaviness of her body.

One of Phryne's hands glided up and threaded into Mac's auburn curls at the nape of her neck. She guided Mac's head back so she could look at her steadily, and started placing gentle kisses upon her friend's face – first cheeks, followed by forehead, nose, each eyelid, and chin. Then, at the feel of Phryne's lips upon hers, Mac froze, her eyes opening. But the kiss was tender, small, Phryne pulling away slightly before resting her forehead down on Mac's, her own eyes still shut.

"Phryne?"

At the note of uncertainty in Mac's voice, Phryne's eyelids fluttered open, and she stared right into her friend's eyes in the dim light. "Yes, Mac?" she whispered.

"You don't have to –"

Phryne brought her hand from Mac's hair to her lips, silencing her much as she'd done before. Her lips twitched into a half smirk, but her eyes filled with compassion and care. "Since when have I ever done anything I didn't want to do?" When Mac's eyes softened with understanding and amusement, Phryne traced her fingers over Mac's lips lightly, then replaced them with her own.

The kiss began the same as the first one, Phryne's lips barely touching hers, making Mac uncertain as to what exactly her friend had in mind. Mac sighed when Phryne nibbled on her bottom lip before sealing their lips together more adamantly. One of Phryne's hands had remained upon the small of her back, but Mac gasped when the other – which had started wandering over her arm and side through the emerald silk – cupped her breast.

Stilling her hand and leaning back, Phryne studied Mac's reddened and half-confused, half-enthralled face. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked seriously.

Mac looked at her friend – her own Phryne whom she'd known so bloody long – and knew. She knew that Phryne longed to give her comfort, to help her lose herself for a while in something other than pain and loss and grief. To give her something else to feel and think about for at least a little while.

She also saw a glint of desire in the blue eyes that gazed into hers, their darkened color evident even by the poor light of the one lamp. And Mac understood that Phryne not only wanted to help her, she _wanted_ her. It shone all over Phryne's flushed visage.

All of this still might have given Mac pause, but she recognized that if anyone knew her own mind, could act decisively for what she wanted, it was Phryne Fisher.

So, searching her eyes, Mac brushed her fingers over Phryne's cheekbone and shook her head. "No. Don't stop. Please."

Smiling softly, Phryne captured her lips between her own again and kneaded her breast through the dressing gown. Mac tangled her fingers into the smooth raven tresses, guiding her head closer and groaning when Phryne pushed her tongue into her mouth.

It was different, being with Phryne, different than being with anyone else. The only thing holding Phryne's naturally passionate nature in check was her love and true concern for Mac. Even the way she pressed Mac back against the mattress, untied the dressing gown, glided her hand down to caress between her legs… her touches were tender at the same time that they generated an intense heat, and Mac felt as if she had burst into flame, a flame tended by the most devoted steward. Normally Mac would be the dominant lover, but she allowed – in fact took great delight in – Phryne taking the lead, needing someone who would show her adoration, desire, and care.

And as Phryne's fingers and kisses coaxed a series of long, low moans from Mac's throat, she felt exactly that: cared for, desired, and adored.

* * *

Phryne had turned on a few more lamps and brought Mac's suit jacket over to her so she could fish out her cigarettes and lighter. From her place propped up against the headboard, the green dressing gown drawn loosely about her, Mac lit a cigarette and watched Phryne pour them another drink, the salmon silk of her pajamas swishing around her body as her raven bob swished around her face.

Bringing the glasses over to the bed, Phryne handed one to Mac and climbed up beside her, resting one arm across the back of the pillows and playing with a lock of red hair, twisting and untwisting the curl around her fingers.

As Mac exhaled a long stream of smoke and then sipped at the whiskey, Phryne asked, "Are you feeling a bit better now?"

Mac cut her eyes to her, but discerned not even a hint of teasing. After another drag on the cigarette, she turned her head to Phryne. "Yes and no, I suppose."

"I suspected as much." She nodded and drank deeply.

"Phryne, we both know what this was."

Cocking her head to the side, Phryne smiled gently. "If I hadn't thought you understood, I wouldn't have initiated anything, Mac. I know you aren't completely yourself. You're my dearest friend, and I would never hurt you for a few hours of pleasure."

Mac threw her head back and laughed. "A few hours?"

"The night isn't over yet," Phryne stated matter-of-factly with a toss of her hair before she took another drink.

"Well, I might take you up on that. I won't say it's not a welcome diversion." Grinning, she sipped the whiskey and inhaled deeply from the cigarette.

"And it does come with certain perks." She chuckled.

"Such as?" Mac's eyebrows rose.

"Such as… you actually know where everything is and what feels nice. Men aren't always so cognizant of such things."

Mac snorted. "Women aren't always either."

"Yes, so I know." Phryne waggled her brows. "But I wasn't speaking of women in general."

"And what made you think I would know?"

Phryne finished her drink and got up to pour another before answering. "For one, you're a doctor."

Nearly snorting again, Mac let out a puff of smoke instead. "I'm sure you've known your share of doctors who don't know their way around a woman – as a lover _or_ as a physician."

"Touché, Mac." She waved a finger in the air as she came back to the bed, reclining once more and again seizing a coil of auburn hair to play with. "But you are also incredibly sharp, almost unbearably witty, and you are a perfectionist. In everything."

"You've got me with that one." Smirking and crushing out the last of the cigarette in the receptacle Phryne had provided, she concentrated on her drink. "And the other 'perks'?"

Phryne's brows knit together for a few seconds before her expression cleared. "Right. I don't have to worry about 'family planning.' It was rather exciting to be completely spontaneous for a change. Sometimes having to remember to bring Madame Stropes into the bedroom with you can put a slight damper on enthusiasm."

"It's not exactly a ménage a trois, is it?" Mac chuckled and took a drink. "Although I'm sure you're quite adept at not letting it slow you down by now." She quirked an eyebrow up at the other woman.

"Well." Phryne grinned in that pleased way she had, her head bouncing slightly from side to side, her somewhat mussed black crop of hair quivering with the motion. "I suppose after so much practice, I'm no slouch, but I defer to you as the expert."

Letting out a bark of laughter, Mac held her drink aloft in order not to spill it and pushed herself back into the pillows, shaking her head from side to side. "In theory, not in practice." She turned her head back to Phryne, grinning.

"Then may our different areas of expertise always mesh so well – in all our joint endeavors." Holding up her glass, she waited for Mac to clink her glass to it with a hearty "hear, hear," before they both downed the rest.

"Was there another perk?" Mac inquired as Phryne took her glass away and moved to the bureau once more.

Phryne stopped and spun around, watching Mac light another cigarette with her deft fingers. "Those few hours I mentioned?" At Mac's chuckle, Phryne poured the drinks and went on. "Not that I haven't found a few men capable of that. But they can't all be Lin Chungs."

Mac took the drink Phryne held out to her once she'd flounced back onto the bed, and turned her head a bit to blow smoke away from her. Then she looked at her with mischief in her eyes. "And what about your inspector?"

The brief look of shock on Phryne's face satisfied Mac more than it probably should have. It cleared almost instantly as Phryne twitched her shoulders and drank. "Jack would never trespass upon his honor with the likes of me. He's married."

"Unhappily." Mac had a healthy swig of whiskey and a long drag on her cigarette, observing her friend carefully. Two tiny spots of pink had manifested themselves upon Phryne's cheekbones – certainly not an ordinary occurrence.

"That's beside the point, Mac. We work together, and it would probably ruin everything." She looked down into her glass, tracing a finger around its rim. "And I suppose your question is how I would imagine he'd be."

"Yes, that _was_ my question." Letting out an extended curl of smoke in the opposite direction and pausing to pick a bit of tobacco off her tongue, she kept her eyes on Phryne.

Phryne took a deep breath. "He has quiet reserves of strength and humor, Jack does. I can imagine that once unleashed, his sexual prowess would be something truly incredible to behold. Particularly combined with his tender sensibilities and otherwise gentle nature." She began to smile, her eyes still upon the glass.

Cocking her head slowly, Mac stared at Phryne for a moment while she appeared lost in thought. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought….

But her contemplations were interrupted by Phryne's sudden laugh. "Jack Robinson is too buttoned up to let any of that show to anyone, I'm sure. Least of all me." She drank deeply, her eyes flicking up to Mac's face and then back down. "All that will ever between Jack and me is a bit of a flirtation, sarcasm, and our squabbles over whose case it is." She shrugged. "Which suits me very well." When she lifted her head to meet Mac's eyes again, the auburn-haired woman detected the faintest hint of sadness in her friend's countenance.

"Phryne," Mac intoned softly. Leaning over, holding drink and cigarette away as best she could, she pressed her lips to Phryne's, kissing her gently.

When she drew away, Phryne smirked. "You taste like whiskey and cigarettes."

"Hmm, well," she mused, stubbing the cigarette out and swallowing the last of the alcohol, "that could be changed soon enough." Mac's eyebrow rose impishly.

"Sounds like a marvelous idea, Mac." Putting her glass aside, Phryne cupped Mac's face and kissed her in return, humming with renewed desire.


	3. My feet never touched the ground

"Miss?" Mr. Butler's voice followed closely upon his knock at the door.

Phryne let out a low groan – only partly precipitated by the knock.

The pair had woken a while before, Phryne sprawled out half on top of Mac, with Mac's arms tightly about her. After a murmured "good morning" and a shared kiss, Mac had promptly rolled Phryne over and slipped off her dressing gown, tossing it to the floor. She then slid the other woman's pajama pants off and flicked them over the side of the bed to join the green dressing gown. Crawling down and between Phryne's legs, Mac proceeded to do things with her tongue that immediately set Phryne squirming and groaning, her hips bucking.

So when the knock came, Phryne whispered, "God, don't stop, Mac," and pulled the bedclothes over Mac and up to her chest.

"Yes, Mr. Butler, come in!" she called out.

The butler stood in the doorway. "Mrs. Stanley is on the telephone, miss. She wants to know if she can come by for tea this afternoon. She also hoped that Dr. MacMillan might be there as well."

If Mr. Butler was in any way surprised or scandalized by the sight of the pajama bottoms and dressing gown littering the floor not far from his feet, the motion of the small mound beneath the covers between his employer's legs, or how Phryne's face flushed and her breathing came in sharp bursts – well, he showed not a sign of this by word or even so much as an eyebrow raise or blush.

Phryne supposed she'd heard the telephone ring earlier, but she hadn't been sure at the time, as drowned as she'd been in the bells Mac had been causing to chime in her head. "Oh, uh," she got out, holding her eyes wide open and snaking one hand under the bedclothes to grip Mac's hair as the other woman pushed two fingers into her while continuing the spell woven with her tongue. "Yes, that's fine, Mr. Butler. Tell her four o'clock."

Keeping her voice smooth enough to get these sentences out had cost her, but the return upon her restraint was magnificent. For, once Mr. Butler had inclined his head – still completely unperturbed – and withdrawn from the room to inform Aunt Prudence of this answer, Phryne let out a loud, keening cry, pushing her hips up and rocking them into Mac's touch.

A few moments later, Mac poked her head out from beneath the covers, wiping her mouth with her thumb and smirking. Phryne lay back against her pillow with a supremely satisfied expression, panting to catch her breath once more. Moving up to plant one hand on either side of Phryne's ribs, Mac leaned forward and ran her lips over Phryne's, moaning happily when Phryne cupped her face and parted her lips to deepen the kiss.

With a low hum Mac eventually ended the kiss, looking at Phryne with mirth in her eyes. "That was quite interesting. Does it happen often?"

"You mean Mr. Butler interrupting things of this nature?" Phryne stroked a gentle thumb over Mac's cheek.

"Yes."

Phryne chuckled. "Often enough that he's not surprised when it happens."

"Was he _ever _surprised by it?" she inquired with the lift of an eyebrow.

"No, I suppose not." Phryne kissed Mac's forehead.

"I told you – unflappable." Mac's visage grew solemn, and she shifted her weight to lie back on the bed again. "So your aunt wants me to be there for tea this afternoon. Did I hear that right?"

"You did." Turning her head, Phryne gave Mac a soft smile. "It will be alright, Mac. You'll see."

Mac sighed, but the corners of her mouth quirked up into a grin as Phryne reached over and slowly trailed her fingers from clavicle, through the valley between her breasts, over her abdomen, and didn't stop until she'd wriggled her hand down to prompt Mac to open her legs enough so she could slip a finger inside her.

"It'll be alright," Phryne repeated in a whisper close to Mac's ear. She drew back enough to gaze at her for a few seconds, then began to grin. "And before we meet this together, head on, let me return the favor?"

Before Mac could respond in words, Phryne crushed her lips to Mac's and began using fingers and thumb upon her, pleased when Mac levered her body forward, half onto her side, kissing back hungrily.

Instead of words, Mac's responses came in the form of whimpers and moans, sighs and caresses.

Which did nothing but delight Phryne.

* * *

Phryne wrapped the green dressing gown around Mac a few hours later, tying it with a neat bow and kissing her sweetly. Then she got back into her pajamas and stuck her head out the door.

"Dot! You can bring up the tea now!" she called down the stairs.

Mac went through her clothes and pulled everything out of her pockets, getting them ready to hand over to Dot for laundering.

Holding open the door for her, Phryne let Dot into the room. She carried a tray heaping with fresh scones and biscuits as well as tea, and she set it down on the dressing table for them.

"Mr. Butler's scones, warm out of the oven, Miss." Dot turned to Mac. "I'll take those, Dr. Macmillan. I should have them back to you within an hour." She reached for the clothes with a smile.

"Thank you," she said, handing her the pile of clothes. "You're so kind to do this for me."

"Not at all, Dr. Macmillan. You've very welcome." She spun around and looked at Phryne. "Is there anything else, Miss?"

"No, Dot. I think Mac and I will have luncheon late today, though, and then we'll entertain Aunt Prudence." Phryne cocked her head to the side in thought. "Actually, can you ask Mr. Butler to run out to the bakery and get a pie? I'd like to serve it with our tea this afternoon."

"Yes, Miss." She smiled and, with Mac's garments folded under one arm, she quietly left the room.

Mac took a biscuit and a cup of tea and sat down, immediately swinging her legs up onto the arm of the chair and leaning back against the other arm, as she tended to do to get comfortable. "What do you think she'll say?"

Her hair flipping with the motion, Phryne tossed her head and shrugged. "Dot's used to my having overnight guests by now. She seemed fine, in fact. Now whether she _knew_ what went on in here between us – "

Interrupting her with a little laugh, Mac rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean Dot, Phryne. Although I'd be interested to know what she thinks of this. She's still a conservative little thing, isn't she? But I admire the way she keeps going here despite that."

"Dot's always been tougher than she looks. I admire that in her. More than she'd probably be comfortable knowing about, as modest as she is." Phryne took a scone and began slathering jam upon it, looking back at Mac. "But whom did you mean before?" She bit into the scone and poured a cup of tea, bringing it to the chair next to her friend's.

"Your aunt Prudence. What do you think she'll say?"

It gave Phryne hope to see Mac's eyes meet her face instead of looking down into her cup, as she had tended to do last night. "I couldn't say for certain, but if my experience of Aunt P is anything to go by – it bodes well that she wants to meet with both of us. If they'd decided to go ahead and give you the sack, she would have met with me alone. That's my take on it, at least." She made a curt nod, her hair bouncing forward, and snapped her teeth into the scone with an air of finality.

Mac chuckled and drank some of her tea. "I hope you're right. Trying to find good work when many physicians and patients alike don't trust you merely because you're a woman is bloody near impossible. I'd like to keep my job."

"You will, Mac." Phryne's voice and look softened. "As I told you last night, Aunt Prudence generally does the right thing… eventually." She winked.

Raising an eyebrow, Mac's expression became solemn. "And you? Will you do the right thing?"

Phryne cocked her head to the side. "The right thing as pertains to…?"

"Murdoch Foyle."

To each word Mac gave a specifically hard inflection, and she lifted both brows now as she sipped her tea. Phryne could tell she meant business, had the same hard line on the question that she'd maintained a few days before.

Although feeling quite relieved to hear Mac sound so very like her natural self, Phryne could also feel the cold hand of trepidation curl its fingers around her heart and squeeze. Murdoch Foyle could tell her what had happened to Janey all those years ago. But at a steep price. One she thought – being so close to finding out what she'd ached to know for so long – she might be willing to pay.

Which was exactly what filled her heart with so much fear.

"Phryne. Phryne –" The snap in Mac's voice brought the other woman out of her reverie. Phryne turned to Mac just as she was going on. " – know what your sister's fate was. But as I've told you before, the knowledge won't bring her back. And you'll have set a monster free. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"No." Tears pricked her eyes without mercy. "But I want to know what happened to Janey, Mac!" She jumped and slung the empty cup into the chair where it bounced harmlessly. "I need to know what he did to my sister!"

A deep sigh escaped Mac's pursed lips, and she swung her legs around to plant her feet firmly on the thick rug and lean forward. Instead of the fierce look Phryne expected, Mac's face exhibited a tender concern. "I can see I won't make any headway here." She shook her head. "I suppose I should expect that when such high emotion is involved. But, please, Phryne, do me a favor?"

Swallowing against the lump in her throat and willing her tears to stay back, Phryne stared at her, waiting, unwilling to commit herself an inch to any favor before she'd heard it.

"Talk to your inspector? Please? Perhaps he won't convince you any more than I can, but, still, talk to him about this?" She stood and went to her friend, putting her hands on her shoulders. "I know you want to do the right thing."

Phryne nodded. "I'll talk to him, Mac. But what if, after I do…," she whispered, "what if I still can't?"

Without saying another word, Mac slid her arms around Phryne's shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace.

And just as Phryne had done for her the night before, Mac let her friend cry as long as she needed.

* * *

After a late luncheon and a mid-afternoon drink downstairs, the two, still in their night time attire, wandered back upstairs where Dot had set Mac's freshly laundered, brushed, and pressed clothing out on Phryne's bed. Phryne selected something and retired behind the screen to change while Mac did the same out in the bedroom.

"You look very smart, Mac," Phryne said, smirking as she emerged from the cover of the screen fully dressed and moved to adjust the scarf nestled into the collar of Mac's white shirt.

"It's the same suit I've been wearing, Phryne." Mac chuckled and shrugged on her jacket, stuffing her things back into the pockets.

"Yes, but you do look smart." With a tilting of her head side to side and a wide grin, she pecked Mac on the cheek before going to sit at her dressing table to apply cosmetics. "You're welcome to use what I have, Mac." Phryne flourished a hand over the bottles and jars.

"I think I might, at that. I don't want to look a complete fright." She'd already been twisting her red hair into its customary low chignon, smoothing and deftly pinning it.

The two sat together at the dressing table, neatly avoiding using the same things at the same times – largely because their application processes were vastly different. When done, Phryne turned to Mac and smiled. "You know, if you ever needed that particular form of comfort – of fun – again, Mac, you're always welcome."

"Thank you." She smiled, but sighed a little as well, looking down and putting lids back on jars. "I'll keep that in mind, Phryne." After a moment she lifted her eyes to the raven-haired woman's again with a bit of a smirk. "It _was_ fun, wasn't it?"

"I think it was just what the doctor ordered," she conceded, returning the smirk.

Mac laughed. "I'm the doctor here. And though it wasn't my order, I'll agree that it was a most effective treatment." She grinned.

Phryne jumped up and tugged on Mac's hand. "Come along now, Mac. Aunt P will be here any moment – and I have the deepest suspicion that she will be eating a very large slice of humble pie!"

Chortling, the pair sauntered out of the room and down the stairs, both filled with a reassuring sense that everything – eventually – was going to be alright.


End file.
